I don’t belong here | Short Story

I don’t belong here. But I'm never sure how I ended up in this wasteland. The howling wind slips under my fur to my bones as my paws crunch through the snow. My fur bristles at the crisp, cold air as a chorus of dead branches creak.


The Lighthouse

Tall pines danced as the evening light painted the scene with a warm orange hue.   I took a deep breath in, smelling the salt sea aroma mix with the crisp scent of the pine needles. A squirrel scurried up a nearby tree as I ran past him. Even though it had been years since my last visit, not much had changed.